


indigo nights

by LilMysterios



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Breeding, Creampie, Crying, Deanna takes care of everything around the house, Dirty Talk, Drunk John, Drunk Sex, F/M, Father/Daughter Incest, Female Dean Winchester, First Time, Grief/Mourning, Grinding, Groping, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Loss of Virginity, Nipple Play, Past Character Death, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Abuse, Somnophilia, Teen Pregnancy, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMysterios/pseuds/LilMysterios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Deanna looks a lot like her mother...<br/>And sometimes when he's drunk John has trouble seeing the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	indigo nights

**Author's Note:**

> Everything's in the tags, so if there's any chance a part of this fic might upset you, please don't test your limits... 
> 
> As usual, I guess I should explicitly state that I do not condone this kind of behavior in real life - this is purely fiction.
> 
> Enjoy!

Deanna never asked for this.

She never asked for her mother to die, leaving her, her brother and her father alone and lost, completely unable to move on after losing the beautiful person Mary was.

She never asked to discover growing up just how much she actually looks like her mother, how the thick eyelashes she likes so much are just like the ones that were framing her late mother's blue, gentle gaze, how the freckles that speckle her cheeks are only a picture of the ones that used to dust her mother's kind face, how her shiny hair curls and waves like a perfect echo of Mary's beautiful, golden mane… and she never asked for the bitter sadness that comes everyday with seeing the face of her mother looking back at her in the mirror.

She never asked for her father to go mad with grief after the death of his beloved wife, for him to drown his pain in alcohol and despair.

But despite knowing this, despite knowing that nothing is her fault and that she never asked for anything that happened so far, she still feels guilty every time her father turns to her, gaze blood-shot and glassy, and says in a drawling tone:

"You look so much like your mother."

It's true, of course, but that doesn't mean it hurts less, and every single time Deanna can feel tears burning her eyes and sobs squeezing her throat.

*

At fourteen, Deanna is already doing all the work around the house. It's only normal for her to get up early to prepare breakfast for everyone, to make sure Sam is ready in time for school, to drop him off before going to her own classes.

It's only a typical day if she comes home from school and steps by the supermarket to buy groceries, if she starts a load of laundry while making dinner, if she goes out again to pick up Sam from his debate club, if she takes care of the groceries, the electricity bills and everything that keeps the house running.

Who will take care of it if she doesn’t, right?

One night she's cooking dinner, one eye on the chicken and the other on the sauce she’s making, when her father comes home.

She doesn't even lift her head to greet him, certain that she’d only be rewarded, like every day, by the pathetic sight of John, drunk out of his mind and swaying in the hall as he tries, on trembling legs, to reach his room to pass out on his bed.

She thinks he’s already down the hallway and just keeps on stirring the sauce when suddenly there is someone warm against her back, and clumsy arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her against a massive chest.

"You smell so good," her father's voice whispers in her ear, breath heavy with alcohol. "You always smell so good..."

Deanna freezes, not sure of how to respond, not sure there is something to be worried about; John, even drunk, is never this affectionate, and the sheer shock of the words has her unable to think about moving.

"That's the first thing I noticed about you, you know," John continues, and he slowly nuzzles Deanna's neck with his nose. "It's what made me start to fall in love with you... Mary."

It's the name of her mother that wakes Deanna up from the strange trance she was trapped in; she jerks away, violently enough that John doesn't have the time to react and just stumbles back, gaze blurry and unfocused.

"Deanna?" he blurts out confusedly. "Where's your mom?"

Deanna blinks, tears burning behind her eyelids, and flees out of the room.

*

John doesn't say anything about what happened the day after, and so Deanna just tries to forget it ever did.

Only, it happens again.

*

It's a Thursday, and Deanna is loading dirty laundry into the washing machine, deliberately ignoring the drilling pain in her lower back as she bends over to stuff handfuls of dirty sweaters and t-shirts inside the machine... when suddenly someone grabs her hips, strong fingers digging hard into the flesh as she is yanked backwards and onto--is that what she thinks it is?

"God, Mary," says her dad in a rough voice, forcibly plastering her back against his front. "You're so beautiful," he rasps, and she can feel the hard bulge of his denim-clad cock against her ass. 

The only barrier between him and his daughter's skin is the thin fabric of her skirt – the one she only wears on laundry days – but that soon disappears as he roughly pulls her skirt up, and she only has a second to regret not keeping a pair of panties to wear under her skirt before he's uncovering her bare ass and rutting against it instead.

She can smell the bitter fragrance of cheap beer around her, and she shudders, trying to regain her balance and failing miserably when John lifts her hips higher, aligning her with his tented groin to rut against her ass.

"You're so gorgeous, my Mary, so beautiful," he slurs. "Was thinking about you all day..."

He sneaks a hand up her shirt, and she only remembers she also isn't wearing a bra – all her bras are currently soaking in cold water in the bathroom sink – when her dad's fingers reach her naked breast, roughly cupping the soft mount in a possessive gesture.

"I was so hard just thinking about fucking you, how wet and ready you’d be for me... I had to come home and see it for myself," he explains, and Deanna startles when he rolls a nipple between his fingers, a flash of _wrongwrongwrong_ pleasure fusing through her whole body.

She tries to escape his grasp, she does, but she is too weak against a grown man's body; she can only struggle in vain as he gropes and squeezes her breasts, as his – thankfully-clothed –  cock nudges between her ass cheeks, rough jeans brushing against her pussy every now and then.

"Yeah that's it, Mary... we always said we wanted a lot of kids, didn't we? We should try for one more right now..."

That's when Deanna realizes what is about to happen, and the horror has her bursting with renewed energy. She manages to pull her elbow free, knocking her dad in the face with it; it draws a pained _ow_ from him before he drops to his knees, and she flees the room.

*

When she comes back from the market later to a concerned Sam telling her how he found their father passed out in the kitchen with a bruised jaw, she pretends she doesn't know what happened. She sighs and says John's probably had a rough day, and that's that.

After all, they both know they aren't a lot of other days for John any more.

*

It's only a few days later that she understands just how fucked-up things are. 

She wakes up in the middle of the night, opening her eyes in the dark to something unusual, and it takes her several seconds before she realizes someone's in her bed.

In fact, not only is someone in her bed, but they're pressed flushed against her back, the oversized shirt she wears to bed pulled up above her waist as a naked cock slides smoothly in the warm space between her thighs.

"What the–" she starts, but the arm snaked around her middle prevents her from moving away.

She's not lucid enough to think straight, and for a moment she thinks someone broke into their home, but then her aggressor talks.

"Mary, my love," says a deep voice against her nape, and she freezes.

It's happening again.

This time she knows better than to wait for him to come to his senses, and she jerks away immediately, trying to get away from him as fast as she can.

But of course she doesn't stand a chance, not in these circumstances anyway.

The struggle is brief, for she is still sleep-slow and he has the advantage of strength on his side; using only one hand, he ends up pinning her on her stomach, wrists trapped to the small of her back, forcing her thighs open as he settles heavily on top of her.

She can smell the alcohol on his breath and it makes her want to gag, a horrified shudder as he starts rutting against her, his naked cock sliding wetly in the space right between her asscheeks, but she can't say anything, she can't scream because Sam is asleep in the next room and he would be traumatized.

"You're so soft," John drawls, breath catching behind his teeth, "I always forget how soft you are..."

He buries his face in her neck, warm breaths puffing against her hair.

"You always said you wanted to be a busy mother, with lots of kids to take care of... I'm gonna give you what you want."

Deanna sobs, but there's nothing she can do as her father pushes her panties down past her ass, uncovering her pussy, his thick fingers probing at the sensitive flesh.

"You're so ready for me," he marvels. "You're so beautiful, my Mary..."

His cock comes poking at the folded lips, smearing precome against the heated skin, teasing her entrance, and Deanna grits her teeth as his weight keeps her from getting free.

This can't be happening, this isn't happening...

But it can, and it is, and with one hard push, John slams inside of her.

She wails, the pain searing and burning as he starts to move inside her, huge and hard and hot, and she's never felt so full, and she's never felt so dirty; she can feel every single inch of her father's dick, rubbing her in her most intimate places, as John starts to talk again.

"Ugh," he groans, "you feel so good, you're so amazing... so tight and warm, your cunt all wet for me..."

She wants to protest, she wants to scream, but none of her efforts seem to even faze him, and that's about the moment she stops fighting him. What can she do? He's already inside, she's not strong enough to dislodge him, and no one can help her.

Her strength leaves her all at once and she just lays there, face smushed into a pillow and pinned down by her father as he takes her virginity.

Deanna closes her eyes in disgusted shame, and she can hear her father panting as he carries on with this weird, twisted love-making.

Like this the sensations are heightened, the wide stretch of her pussy around the girth of her father's cock, the wet drag of precome and her own juices easing the way for him, his short, straining breaths echoing in the room as he fucks her slowly.

"You were so peaceful in your sleep, so beautiful, wearing my clothes..."

His free hand sneaks under her and pushes her t-shirt higher, all the way up to her neck to uncover her chest, and she shudders when his huge palm closes over one breast. 

He starts playing with the nipple, pinching it lightly until it's erect, pink and raw under the pads of his fingers, and after one mean, possessive twist she cries out, her hips bucking up involuntarily.

"I know, you can't wait to be filled," he laughs darkly. "You can’t wait to become a mommy again, to carry my kid around..."

His hips pick up the rhythm, deep, slow thrusts becoming harder, faster, and she whines, every jab of his hips pushing her higher, and she feels like an animal, every push a painful reminder that it's her father fucking her.

John's head drops to her shoulder, one hand still squeezing her breast, crushing it between her weight and his palm.

"It's okay, Mary," he whispers against her skin. "I'll give you what you want. I’ll fuck you full of come, I’ll fill you until you’re bursting with my seed, all fat and glowing with my baby…"

His hips work furiously against her, cock sliding in and out of her open pussy at a diabolical pace that has Deanna almost sobbing with the pounding pain...

But soon his movements become jerky, and then he's pushing his cock as deep as it can go and he's coming with a groan, his face twisted with pleasure.

She can feel herself being flooded with come, hot spurts of seed splashing against her insides, and the wet, strange feeling of fullness is unbearable; she starts crying, salty tears wetting the pillow as her mouth opens on broken, silent hiccups.

He doesn't see her tears, just keeps fucking her through his own orgasm, slightly frantic as he chases the last remnants of ecstasy inside of her.

When he finally pulls out, soft dick sliding out with a wet, squelching noise, she wants to gag.

She is too tired to even think about getting up and out of there, but already he is getting out of her bed and walking away, going back to his room while she remains behind, boneless and fucked-out and full of her father's come.

She can't go back to sleep, so she just cries quietly until her eyes are dry, come slowly leaking out of her wrecked pussy.

*

It never stops.

Once or twice a month – more often when the price of beer goes down – John will come home and force himself on Deanna, calling her Mary and talking about babies as he fucks her stupid, coming deep inside of her and stuffing her full of his seed until she can barely walk...

The pill would require a prescription, and the morning one is way too expensive, but despite that Deanna only gets pregnant twice, once at fifteen and another time when she is seventeen; both times, she gets an abortion pill without telling anyone, and goes home to her father who doesn't even remember he’s the one who got her pregnant.

But she never stops wanting to cry when sometimes John turns to her, a look of infinite sadness on his face, and says in a soft voice:

"You know... you really look a lot like your mother."

Because her hips still hurt from where he gripped them tight and hard four days ago as he was pounding her from behind, and there is a purplish bruise fading just under her clavicle that _he_ sucked there, and she hasn't been able to sleep peacefully for a really long time now, so she knows.

She knows.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was unbeta'd, so please tell me if you noticed any glaring mistake.
> 
> I hope you liked it, and if you did, don't forget...
> 
> Kudos are love. ;)


End file.
